I spent some time on my laptop working on Ximena's projects, keeping an eye on Ranger and his mom in the sterile hospital room. Mariposa slept soundly in her hospital bed, but Ranger's sleep seemed tense in his chair.
Ranger's eyes fluttered open when a nurse came in to his mom's hospital room. She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail, and she was wearing light pink scrubs and black clogs that squeaked on the white tile floors. The woman checked his mom's vitals and IV pole before rousing her.
"Hi Mariposa. My name is Shelly, and I'm your overnight nurse. How is your pain?"
Mariposa's eyes barely opened, her eyelids heavy with sleep.
"I'm good," she said, her voice weak.
"Can I get you anything?" the nurse asked. "A drink?"
"No, thank you," Mariposa said, her eyes slipping shut again.
The nurse crossed to the room's computer station, flashed her badge in front of a scanner, and began typing. She glanced over at us and did a double-take. It wasn't clear if the double take was because both of our faces had prominent injuries or because Ranger was seriously fine.
"Beautiful flowers. Do you need anything?" she asked Ranger and I with a pleasant smile.
"We're fine, thanks," Ranger answered. "Is she okay?"
"Everything looks good," Shelly said. "She's just sleepy. Good drugs."
"I want her comfortable," Ranger said, his voice firm.
"I will do my best. Is Mariposa your mom?"
"Yes."
The nurse nodded. "Don't hesitate to hit the call button if she needs anything or if she seems uncomfortable."
Ranger nodded, apparently satisfied with her response. Shelly wished us a good evening and left.
"Babe, you need to go home," Ranger said, glancing at the clock.
"I'm good," I said. "I'll hang out a little longer, but I think I'm going to hit the vending machine since you're awake."
He nodded.
"You need anything? M&Ms? Coke?"
He looked amused that I'd bothered to ask.
I exited the small room and began wandering around, seeking out treats. I'd finally found the small family room when my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number.
In my work as a bounty hunter, I get a lot of calls and texts from unknown numbers. I give my card out a lot, so my phone number was readily available for all of Trenton's freaks, geeks, felons, old ladies, and gang members, not to mention debt collectors and telemarketers selling extended vehicle warranties.
I unlocked my phone and checked the readout.
"Is this Stephanie Plum?"
I had a strong urge to ignore the text, but I figured that would be a bad idea given the large number of open files I had. If somebody had information to share, I needed it.
"Yes. What's up? Who is this?" I replied.
A reply buzzed through a minute later. "This is Lucy from the front desk at Mr. Orr's law firm. Can we talk?"
I was really surprised by this. I typed my response into the phone. "Of course. By phone? In person? By text?"
My answer came in the form of a phone call from Lucy.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Hi Miss Plum. I'm sorry to call you so late."
"No problem," I said. "Please, call me Stephanie. What's up?"
"Mr. Orr called me today at the firm."
This piece of information surprised me. "Really?"
"Yes, ma'am," she said.
"What did he say?"
"Mr. Orr told me he wasn't sure when he would return, but I should give unrestricted access to his files, discovery, and other items related to his active cases and clients to Mr. Rhoads and Mr. Fitch."
"Was that out of the ordinary?" I asked.
"No, not so much," she replied. "They often collaborate on big cases, but it is odd that he doesn't know when he'll return.
"Do you think he's running from his legal trouble?" I asked skeptically.
"No. I didn't pry about his arrest, but I got the impression it was a minor violation. He didn't seem too worried about it. I can't see him skipping town," Lucy replied. "I am worried about his safety, though."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, shortly after Mr. Orr moved to the firm, we had a private conversation. In that conversation, he established a code phrase with me."
"Code phrase?" I asked skeptically.
"Mr. Orr has a number of clients who are known to be dangerous or hostile," she explained. "The code phrase was established as a way to alert me to call the police or get help for him, should things go south. He used that phrase during our call."
"What is the phrase?" I asked.
"Banana cream pie."
"Huh?" I asked.
"Shortly after starting his role at the firm, Mr. Orr asked me what my favorite dessert was. I told him it was banana cream pie. So he said if he ever used that phrase in conversation, it meant he was in trouble and that I should get help. I wasn't sure what to do, so I'm calling you," she explained.
"Why didn't you call the police?" I asked.
"I wasn't sure I had cause," she said. "I don't know where he is or how to help. Or even what kind of help he needs."
I let the conversation roll around in my brain, trying to put together pieces of the puzzle. I came up with nothing.
"Did he leave you a call back number?" I asked.
"No."
"Was there a number on caller ID?"
"It read as 'restricted.'"
"And you're sure it was him?"
"Yes. I recognized his voice. And no one else would have known the banana crème pie reference."
"Do you think Rhoads or Fitch know something?"
She was quiet on the line for a while. "I do," she finally admitted. "Frankly, I think they may have Mr. Orr stashed away somewhere, but it's hard to tell. I really need this job, and I'm trying to stay out of it. They don't share much information with me."
I thanked her profusely for the call and asked her to call again if she learned more information. I wished her well and disconnected.
I dug around in my messenger bag for vending machine change as I mentally processed the phone call. I was honestly a little surprised to learn that Dickie was still alive. He was a real jerk of a human being, but he had always been a devoted lawyer. I couldn't see him walking away from his firm and his cases without good cause. I had to agree with Lucy—Dickie's charges were minor in the grand scheme of things. They weren't a good reason to walk away from your career. So what would cause him to walk away? Was he being threatened by someone? A client? A colleague? Had he been taken against his will? That seemed unlikely if he was making phone calls, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Crazier things had happened.
I texted Ximena about the call. I thought about telling Ranger, but decided against it. He had enough on his mind without polluting it with this crap. I dropped change into the vending machines, buying myself M&Ms, a Snickers, and a Coke before cruising back to Mariposa's hospital room.
Ranger and I sat side by side for an hour watching his mother sleep. He held my hand in his, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. To my surprise, he ate some of my M&M's and took a swig of my Coke. He didn't check his e-mail or do his work. He simply sat, which was very out of character for him.
"I should hit the road," I said as the clock turned to 10 PM. "I'd stay, but I don't have much to contribute here. I'm sorry."
"You've done a lot, Babe. Thank you," Ranger replied, squeezing my hand in his.
His mother stirred in the bed, and Ranger crossed to her side. Her eyes fluttered open.
"Carlíto," she murmured, her lips forming a small smile. "I'm so glad to see you, my child."
He took her hand in his. "Mamí, how are you feeling?" he asked, his tone concerned.
"Tired. A little sore," she responded in her thick Cuban accent. "Why are you still here? It is dark. Go home. Sleep."
"I'm staying tonight," Ranger replied.
"You shouldn't. But oh, what beautiful flowers," Mariposa said, her attention shifting to the window ledge. "Did you bring them?"
"Stephanie brought them," Ranger said, gesturing in my direction.
"Oh, dear child," she said, smiling at me. "What are you doing here? It is late."
"Just stopping by to make sure you two were alright," I explained, getting to my feet. "I was worried about you both."
"She brought me dinner," Ranger said, his tone hinting at amusement.
"What have I been saying, Carlíto!" his mother admonished. "You'd best scoop up this beautiful woman before it is too late. Not many women would put up with your idiosyncrasies and strange lifestyle."
I was growing uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, but Ranger seemed unfazed.
"I know, mamí. You've only told me fifteen times this week. You're absolutely right, though. I'm thinking about it," Ranger responded, giving me butterflies in my chest.
"Quit thinking so hard. You'll pull a muscle under that thick skull of yours," Mariposa said, raising herself up in the bed.
I couldn't help but laugh at Ranger's expense, and he gave me a 200 watt smile in return. Ranger gave his mom a drink of water out of a Styrofoam cup, and I helped her open a Chapstick for her dry lips. Then Ranger helped her find something suitable to watch on TV while I helped her put a soft knit hat onto her bald head. Once she was settled, I packed up my things to leave.
"Drive safely, Babe. Let me know you made it home."
"I will. I'll miss you," I said, wrapping my arm around his waist. He gave me a soft, lingering kiss, keeping it appropriate but sweet in front of his mother. "Goodnight," I said to Ranger's mother, giving her a wave and a smile.
"Bueños noches, Estephanía," Mariposa said.
I pulled the car keys out of my jeans pocket, and Ranger caught a glance of them.
"Babe, you brought my car?" He smiled from ear to ear.
"Yep. It seemed like a fun treat for a road trip. Besides, I didn't want the car to get lonely with you out of town."
"I can always count on you to brighten my day," he laughed, giving me a light swat on the butt. "Get home, Plum. Don't get too close to any garbage trucks."
I woke up alone with light peeking through the curtains and my phone ringing on the bedside table. I was alone in the bed, wearing one of Ranger's t-shirts and undies. The bedside clock read 8:17 AM. I had overslept.
"Hello?" I croaked into the phone, rubbing my eyes.
"G'mornin'!" my grandma sang into the phone. "It sounds like you were asleep. Did I wake you up?"
"I'm up," I yawned into the phone. "What's up?"
"I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight before the wake," said Grandma. "Your mother is making ham and pineapple upside-down cake. It'll be a feast!"
I worked to clear the brain-fog and remembered that Mabel Markowitz's viewing was tonight at Steva's. Sure, it wasn't called Steva's anymore, but to all us Burg-ers, it would ALWAYS be Steva's.
"Sure," I said, sitting up in the bed. "I'd like that."
"Will Ranger be with you?" grandma asked.
"I don't think so," I said. "He's busy with other stuff."
Grandma told me to have a nice day, and we disconnected. I crawled out of bed and into the bathroom, running low on energy and even lower on motivation. I washed my face and hands and threw my hair up in a ponytail, opting to forego the shower for now. I swiped on a coat of mascara and lip gloss, then dressed in my Rangeman uniform. I gritted my teeth as I remembered it was Thursday—range day. I strapped my gun belt around my waist and grumbled as I laced up my boots. I felt ridiculous dressed like a total badass when I knew deep-down in my heart, I was more of a Lucy Ricardo than a Lara Croft.
I shuffled into the kitchen to find that the food fairy had been in the apartment. Hooray! A tray with a carafe of hot coffee and a covered hot plate sat on the bar. I raised the lid and found scrambled eggs, bacon, and a cherry pastry. A note had been set on the tray. It read, "Stephanie, Ranger asked that I bring you breakfast this morning. I hope you don't mind that I entered the apartment while you were sleeping. Enjoy! -Ella"
Did I mind? Of course I didn't mind. The food fairy was always welcome, as far as I was concerned. I grabbed a coffee mug and a fork, and I tore into the breakfast greedily. As I ate, I dialed Ranger. He picked up on the second ring.
"Babe."
"Hey. Thanks for breakfast. How are you holding up? Did you get any sleep last night?" I asked.
"I'm fine. I slept some," he said.
I had a hard time believing him. Sleeping in hospitals was nearly impossible in my experience.
"How's your mom?"
"She's reminded me six times this morning that I should marry you, so I think she's going to live."
I couldn't help but laugh out loud at that response.
"When will she get to go home?"
"Probably tomorrow if she stays on this trajectory," he explained. "My sister and dad will be here any minute. I'll be back in Trenton late morning."
"Cool, I didn't figure I'd see you today. Are you awake enough to drive?" I asked.
"Babe."
"That's not an answer," I scolded playfully.
"I'll be fine," he said, his tone betraying his amusement. "You're with Lester today if you leave Haywood."
"Well, tell your mom hi for me. By the way, we're invited to dinner tonight at my parents' house if you're a glutton for punishment. Ham and pineapple upside-down cake."
Ranger paused, evidently weighing his options.
"Sure," he said hesitantly.
"Really?" I said, disbelieving.
"Why not?" he responded. "I can leave for Newark from there."
"There are at least a million reasons to avoid dinner with my family at all costs," I said. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."
I told him that I loved him and to drive carefully before disconnecting.
I found myself in the range with Lester and Joe twenty minutes later. Morelli was dressed in his Rangeman uniform and looked like hell with a black eye and a split lip.
"Good morning," I greeted.
"Good morning, Beautiful!" Lester greeted cheerfully.
Morelli was silent. He looked uncomfortable.
"Let's get this over with," I said, entering my firing lane. Morelli did the same. I emptied my clip into my target, adjusting my stance and grip between each shot. All of my shots hit my target. They weren't all fatal shots, but they would have at least slowed the paper dude down. I called that a win.
"Nice," Lester praised. "Definitely better than Tuesday."
I began reloading my gun, and Morelli did the same.
"Good, Joe. You're welcome to continue bi-weekly range time, but we can move to once per week if you'd rather. Your consistency is spot on."
Morelli considered this as he slid bullets into his clip.
"I'd like to shoot," he said, without a pause or a stutter.
We continued this routine through six more clips, the tenseness in the room failing to dissipate. When we sat to clean our guns, I noticed Morelli wasn't making eye contact with me. It was becoming clear this wasn't going to work if we were supposed to be partners. We were going to have to learn to work together through the awkwardness, or I was going to have to request a different partner.
"What's on your schedule today?" I asked Joe in a friendly tone.
He glanced up at me then looked down at his gun, thinking.
"Physical therapy. Speech therapy." He paused, his face tense with focus. "Training," he finally said.
"I'm out of here," Lester said, crossing to the door. "Call me if you want to trace skips today, Bomber." With that, he was gone.
"Busy day," I said to Morelli. "Hey, your speech is really improving," I praised him. "You should be proud of yourself."
"Thanks," he said. "I'm working on it."
"It shows. Do you want to grab lunch later?"
Morelli gave me a look like corn was growing out of my head.
"I'll buy," I said, slipping my gun into the gun belt. "Pino's?"
"No, thanks," he responded, pushing his stool away from the table.
I raised an eyebrow at him. I studied his face and saw sadness there.
"If we're going to be partners, we have to figure out how to co-exist," I said.
"I know," Morelli said, "but I need more time." He shoved his gun into his gun belt and left without another word.
Lester and I pulled up in front of the bonds office in my Jeep around 11 AM. To my surprise, Lula's Firebird was parked in front. I threw my messenger bag over my shoulder, and we ambled inside.
"Hey," I greeted casually, wandering over to the coffee pot for a cup.
"Hey yourself," said Connie, giving Lester a full-body scan. Connie was dressed in a tight grey sweater and a black pencil skirt, her four-inch platform heels poking out from under the desk. Her body was extra va-va-voom today.
"How are you, gorgeous?" Lester asked Connie, sitting on the edge of her desk.
"Better now that you're here," she replied, fanning herself.
"Get a room," Lula said from the leather couch. "Ain't nobody got time for this nonsense."
Today, Lula was sporting maroon leather pants, a black backless shirt with a low v-neck, and black heels. In lieu of her own hair, today Lula was wearing a long blonde wig.
"What's up, Lula?" I asked, taking a seat in a club chair.
"I was nearby on business, and I thought I'd drop in and say hello."
"What she means to say is she stopped by for a donut," Connie said, rolling her eyes.
"Well, that may have been the case, but there weren't any donuts," Lula said, sounding disappointed.
"Well, without you and Vinnie around these days, I've been buying fewer donuts," Connie said. "Maybe I'll finally lose the fifteen pounds I've been battling."
"Ain't nobody need that kind of negativity in their life," Lula said. "Donuts are happy food. You're fixin' to be a sad sorta person without donuts."
I had to admit, Lula was right. Donuts made me happy. Give me a Boston Crème to sink my teeth into, and I'd be a happy camper. But I also knew that donuts often caused my pants to be too tight, so I could appreciate Connie's perspective.
"Do you have plans tonight?" Lester asked Connie, waggling his eyebrows at her. "I thought maybe we could get dinner again."
"Sure, if you'll be dessert," Connie said, winking at him.
I feigned gagging noises, and the two glared at me.
"Any new files?" I asked Connie.
"Only one."
She passed me the file, and I opened it to study its contents.
"Elena Avalos, twenty-eight. Arrested for possession with intent to distribute. Lives in an apartment in North Trenton. Bartender. Not married, no kids. Looks like she's had a few similar charges in the past, but has got off with a slap on the wrist."
"It's unlikely she gets off so easily this time," Connie said, pushing back in her desk chair. "She had a kilo of heroin in her car."
"Ouch," Lester chimed in. "Sounds like that will be a legal mess."
"Where I'm from, we'd refer to her ambition as 'entrepreneurial,'" Lula said, scowling at Lester. "A girl's gotta make a living."
I glanced through a few more pages finding nothing remarkable, but I stopped short when I read the bond agreement.
"Dickie is her lawyer?" I asked Connie.
"Looks that way. Neither of them showed for court yesterday. I guess Dickie not showing was obvious."
"Well, he's not dead," I said, telling Connie about the call I'd received the night before.
"I'm actually kinda surprised," Connie said. "I honestly thought he'd be at the bottom of the Delaware."
"Me too," I said. "Something weird is going on, but I can't quite put the pieces together. Plus, he's a low bond and I'm not law enforcement. Figuring out his mess is not my job. I'll keep my eyes and ears open, but he's officially at the bottom of my list for now."
"Just be glad you left that loser," said Lula, swirling around a giant cup of soda.
"Speaking of Dickie's clients," Connie said, "I was able to get a rough list of some of Dickie's clients with the help of a guy at Rangeman. I think his name was Hector?"
I smiled. Nothing about this surprised me. I was pretty sure Hector could hack into the Pentagon if he wanted to. The guy had serious tech skills.
Connie handed me a file folder. "I imagine this is in no way a complete list, but maybe something will jump off the page for you."
"Thanks," I said, shoving the folder in my messenger bag. "Let's start by swinging by Elena Avalos's apartment," I said to Lester, arranging the items in my messenger bag. "Then we'll go from there."
"I'll see you tonight?" Lester asked Connie.
"You bet," she said, leaning forward to give Lester a good look at 'the girls' in her tight gray sweater.
"Pick you up at seven? Your place?"
"Sounds great," Connie said, smiling wide.
Lester stood, bent over Connie, and gave her a panty-trashing kiss. I made more gagging noises in honor of the occasion, and Lula rolled her eyes.
"Let's hit the road, Santos."